18 Months On
by PineappleOverlord
Summary: Bonnibel and Marceline only spent a month together, and yet, a year and a half later, neither can forget that short time. Moving on simply isn't an option. AU Bubbline
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I was in a pretty weird mood when I though of the premise of this fic. I was considering how love changes people, especially heartbreak, and decided to take it to extremes. Prepare for a lot of angst, a load of flashbacks and references that won't be explained for a long time yet. It's gonna be a hell of a ride.**

**Rated T for language and drinking/smoking. Probably verges on M, and will probably change rating depending on the course that is taken later. **

* * *

Bonnibel Grabb wasn't usually one for philosophising but something about the ashen ghost trickling from her lips made her think. Thinking existentially, that is, not the usual systematic train of thought she usually employed.

Memories. They were enough of an enigma when considered in the scientific sense. But by any terms, why was it that the briefest of moments stuck in your head whilst infinteissimal holes of time slipped away like sand? Why was it that certain words could never be wiped away by the work of months? Why could a single encounter affect your body, mind, heart, soul?

One month had transcended into eighteen, eighteen had transcended into ammonia and cigarettes. She lifted the tobacco to her lips and took a long haul. Everything she'd ever known- carcinogens, monoxide, addiction- was blown away with the smoke on her breath. It was a relaxant. It was a moment of calm in a day of stress.

She ran a hand through her bubblegum pink hair, relaxed the knot in her shoulders, and leant against the fire escape. Her blue eyes flitted across the neon studded cityscape. Any other day, she'd be out there, partying and cheering with the rest of them. But she wasn't one to believe in hair of the dog treatment and the weight in her skull needed no extra 'help', even late into the day as it was.

Perhaps, in retrospect, the smoke was a bad idea. But the cigarette found her fingers, her lips, her head, and she took another long drag. Honestly, she had no idea what she was doing. Her science brain kicked in for a moment- this was the psychological result of an unfulfilled affection, coupled with a suppressed ego and the burden of teenage hormonal activity. And the science part of her was discarded as she realised the true answer.

Marceline Abadeer, and a month with her, transcending into eighteen more. She wondered how that time had affected her. She was probably out right that moment, swallowing down shots like they were liquid air. Hell, she'd still be doing it even if she had the craziest hangover.

Bonnibel wasn't quite that level yet. Despite her bubblegum head, she was still a scientist. She still believed in discipline and self control and logic, even if she sometimes twisted her ideals to fit the spur of the moment. But right now, there was no moment to be spurred. There was just a balcony and loneliness and the thought of school to come.

She really needed a shower.

* * *

_The yellow mini drew up to the cabin, acrid gas spurting from the exhaust, the tires squealing through the mud. Inside the vehicle, Bonnibel winced. No matter how many times she had told her uncle that the car was simply too old, that the axis had practically derailed and that there were more efficient ways of getting around, he refused to part with it. It was stylish, he claimed. It brought back memories, he told her._

_She had decided not to tell him how embarrassing it was to drive around in it._

_It was important to set an example now. Through years of study and excellence, she had finally secured a place in the Overachievers Occupational Organisation. Or Ooo, as most people called it. Though the simple wooden building did not boast of much, the statistics proved it the best way to get a head start in life. Only a select elite were chosen to take part, and employers and universities went crazy over it. With all her dreams of a career in science, this was perfect for Bonnibel._

_But seeing it for herself, she suddenly had second thoughts, "Do you think…?"_

_"Whatever you're about to say, don't._

_"No, right now, I could be… I don't know… I mean it's summer vacation, I should-"_

_Her uncle turned to face her, "You worked hard for this, Bonnibel. There isn't time for reconsideration."_

_"Yeah, I suppose," she sighed, turning back to the window. She didn't know why she even bothered. Her uncle was puckered up and sour, like a lemon. There was no way she could back out with him around._

_It wasn't the course itself that frightened her, but the people. She had spent her whole life being 'the intelligent one'. She didn't want that taken away from her by the future minister of education and others of that ilk_

_"Well, aren't you going to get out?_

_Her blue eyes studied the door handle, then the dashboard, as if weighing up her choices. Finally, she looked him in the eye, "If I call, you'll answer, right?"_

_"Don't be so bloody needy. But yes. I suppose it's my job."_

_"And there'll be ice cream in the fridge when I get back?"_

_His smirk contorted his sallow face into a caricature, "Get out already."_

_Fingers resting on the handle, she smiled back, "I love you too, uncle," and pressing lightly on the door so that it didn't groan against her weight, she stepped onto the damp ground. There was a loud squeak as she opened the boot of the car and she made a face. Hopefully it was not loud enough for anyone inside to hear._

_Behind her, tires ground against the dirt, considerably quieter than her own flavescent vehicle. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, she took her luggage from the car- two hold-alls and a small blue backpack._

_The newcomer, however, did not try to be inconspicuous. The passenger door slammed shut with a jarring smash, and the angry footsteps did not need the voice rising above them to convey any extra emotion, "Fuck you, dad. Fuck you, and fuck every single fucking thing you have ever done to fuck me over."_

_As she listened in, she shut the boot as quietly as she possibly could_

_"What? I swear too much? You think I'm swearing at you for no reason, dad?"_

_Bonnibel pushed her russet hair from her eyes and looked at her companion. Opposite to her in the makeshift lot was another girl with hair as dark as her skin was pale. She held a phone to her ear, and opened the taxi doors in a considerable display of her temper_

_"Hell, I wanted to spend summer playing crappy video games and snorting crack cocaine… Of course I'm fucking kidding. I'm just antagonising you now, for fuck's sake," she emphasised the expletive with the crash of the car boot, and instantly recoiled, raising a limp hand to her mouth, "Oh god fucking damnit... no, dad, I… ugh. Whatever. Bye._

_Bonnibel decided this was a good time to get inside, before the stranger redirected her anger elsewhere. So she picked up her bags, waved goodbye at her uncle through the windows and made her way up the path. When she reaced the door, she briefly glanced back. The girl's phone dangled from her hand as she stared sullenly down at her possessions. After a moment, she gave an audible sigh and stretched out. She looked up at the trees. Just blinked. Shut her eyes. Took a breath._

_The yellow mini spluttered away. Brought back to life by the noise, she jerked around and found Bonnibel staring._

_"And fuck you too."_

* * *

She watched the glass slowly fog up until her reflection was little more than a mirage, an illusion created by the scattering droplets. Her skin, barely visible against the white tile, was hardly there. Somehow, the lack of proof in her existence, her tangibility, it comforted her. Eighteen months ago, she had been fixated on making a mark. She had once strived to be the centre of attention. She had strived to be big. But now, Marceline Abadeer knew that there was no greater comfort than nothingness.

Cold water trickled down her back and she lifted her face to meet its kisses. The beads of moisture clung to her lashes and sealed her eyes shut. She breathed deep and turned over. A few faltering notes were coaxed from her mouth, "You're a walking heartbreak..." she didn't like the way her voice sounded- maybe it was the lack of practise or perhaps the syllables grew heavy with the moisture in the air, but it wasn't the same, "Don't give a damn 'bout no one else…"

The note fell an octave and she frowned at her failure. With a mixture of disappointment and reluctance, she closed the faucet. Blindly, water dripping down her face, she fumbled for her towel, found it, hugged it around her flesh. She wiped her feet on the mat and stepped onto the cold stone floor. She should've brought her slippers, she thought, as a chill ran through her.

As she squeezed a tear of toothpaste from its tube, she thought of other things. That paper due in tomorrow: she'd completed it to the best of her standards, hadn't she? Nothing more could be said about the lingering Neolithic traditions continued by modern artificers, could there? There was little enough to say on the subject as it was. It was only a theory she'd cooked up one tired night, since she had needed an original thesis. Nothing was more original than absolute bullshit; Marceline knew that from experience.

She spat her mouthful of foam down the drain and washed out her mouth with a swig of water. The mirrored cabinet above her head was pulled upon- she noticed the condensation was clearing- and a bottle of Clearasil was produced. She gently rubbed it in to her cheeks, before rinsing her face with water. A yawn escaped her. She was getting tired.

But as she shut the cabinet, she found herself again. A girl with a pointed face and small nose stared back at her. Her lips were parted and her eyebrows arched, making her look permanently confused, lost even. Chestnut eyes, almost red, faint shadows rimming them, pulling them in. Her hair had evened out to her shoulder blades- because they were so sharp they might've been- and formed dark curtains that blotted out the rest of the universe. Hanging from her ears were two acid crosses and these were the only signposts that she was once not as mellow as she appeared.

She had become someone Peebs would be proud of.

And as the thought crossed her mind, that little, lost girl in the mirror smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Bonnibel watched the minutes tick over. It was past three now; she should've been up seven hours ago. And she had been, it was just that she hadn't left her bed for all that time. She'd passed it off as a migraine and that wasn't so much a lie as an exaggeration.

It wasn't as if the lecture was that important anyway- something about deoxybenzoin and halide catalysis. It was highly unlikely she'd need that in her later life, and even if she did, the Internet existed to rectify her problems.

She stared at the wall. A dusty scar was left from the time she'd singed the plaster- accidentally, after neglecting to pick up the lamp when she had once knocked it over. She kept forgetting to paint over it, and she'd only keep forgetting as time moved on. Besides, it only added character to the room. Why bother?

Bonnibel had been making far too many excuses lately, and even she had to accept it. However, her apathy was born from a lifetime of working too hard. When all that effort had been repaid in moping around her flat, then she'd start going about life normally. Or, at least that's what she told herself.

There was a knock at the door.

Fuck that, she thought, and rolled over. Some missionary type, probably, trying to convert her to creationism. For that, she only had one answer; science. It didn't matter that science was not as important to her as it had once been.

"Come on, Bonni, we know you're in there."

"We heard from Cinna that you weren't at the lecture, and you're definitely not out yet, so..."

"Open up."

"You okay?"

She groaned and pulled a pillow over her eyes, "Go away."

There was a pause, and then a murmured, "Hey, Finn, where does she keep her keys again?"

"Found them," he replied, and they rattled inside the lock. Bonnibel sighed, the door was opened, and her friends walked in. A wet towel was thrown at her face.

"I'm up, I'm up," she protested, and swung her legs over the mattress.

"You should clean up," Finn said, "Frankly, this is gross."

"I'm sorry. Leaving used toiletries on the floor just so happens to be the easiest and most convenient thing to do."

He rolled his eyes, "I'll make some herbal tea. Maybe then you'll get back to normal."

He left. She didn't bother telling him she'd forgotten normal long ago.

His girlfriend remained in the living room; a spritely little thing with dark skin and corkscrew red hair, which was held back by a jewelled diadem and looking decidedly tamer than usual. Her eyes were full of fire, and they watched the other girl, "I like your PJs, by the way."

"Yeah."

Florence Roth and Bonnibel Grabb had an odd relationship. One had been the object of Finn's unrequited desire for years, the other was a rebound relationship that had blossomed into genuine affection. Hence, there was a marked awkwardness between the two which no amount of time could heal.

Finn reentered the room, magically carrying three mugs in his hands. He offered them round and took a swig of the yellow solution, "So, Bonni, care to explain why all your cupboards are full of alcohol?"

"It helps me think."

"Hmm..." was all he had to say to that.

"They're all empty," she pointed out, as if that made anything better.

"Right. And I bet if I step onto your fire escape, I'll find it carpeted with cigarette butts."

"Interspersed," she corrected.

Florence leaned forward, "Bonni, have you ever considered you might have a problem?"

She took a sip of her drink and it scalded her tongue, "Oh, yeah. Many, in fact."

No one spoke.

* * *

_There were twenty rooms, each with two bunks, and thirty nine participants. Anyone with decent knowledge of mathematics could tell that there would be one poor kid rooming alone._

_Marceline Abadeer was the remainder, but she felt anything but 'poor'. The bunk bed had been organised to the best of its capabilities: the bottom bunk served for storage and the top for sleep. The rest of the room was empty, apart for the bass that lay beneath the window. Somehow, she supposed she wouldn't be using it very often._

_She had woken up at seven, which was early by her usual standards. Last night, the instructor had told them they wouldn't need to be up until eight, giving her an hour to kill._

_She took out her phone and texted Ash, 'ppl arnt sposed 2 wake up this early i swear"_

_She stared up at the ceiling for a full ten minutes, creating pictures from the cracks in the plaster, before the reply came, 'holy fuck mar wut happened 2 u?'_

_'the country air thats wut'_

_Her relationship with Ash was difficult to explain. They'd started dating almost a year ago, although neither had expressly said so. Much in the same way, they were more at the level of close friends now. But with them, it was incredibly hard to tell whether their relationship was platonic or romantic._

_'or mayb its cuz ur not hungover'_

_'fuck u'_

_She slid out of bed and walked over to the window. If it wasn't for her phone, she'd have no clue it wasn't already midday._

_'dont miss me 2 much ok?'_

_'gonna b surrounded by overprivileged a holes wont b 2 hard 2 miss even u ;)'_

_'bitch'_

_Marceline tossed her phone onto her bed and put on a pair of slippers. When she got downstairs, she found that she had already screwed up. Obviously, she hadn't been listening yesterday as the others were fully dressed, breakfast was packed away, and the leader was already talking._

_"The purpose of this exercise is simply to become acquainted with- and perhaps even understand- your companions. It's about learning how to make good first impression. This is the most important business strategy there is. It'll ensure cooperation and endorsement from other establishments. So make sure that you're polite and friendly."_

_Bonnibel didn't like it, this casual deconstruction of social interaction, but she would definitely need to make friends if she wanted to actually enjoy the camp. As she looked around the room, all the others had already found a partner and were chatting animatedly. It looked like she would be alone._

_Then their eyes locked across the room. The girl who'd come by taxi, perched on the edge of a sofa, lifted a hand as if to say, 'Hey, I'm here too, y'know.'_

_Bonnibel made her way over. Maybe she'd just been having a bad day. She didn't look that angry right now- if anything, her face was weighed down with drowsiness. Hopefully she wasn't grouchy when she hadn't had any sleep._

_"It's you," she intoned when Bonnibel came to sit beside her._

_"Yeah."_

_What else was there to say? Sorry for being curious when you were swearing prolifically down your phone? Did I breach your personal boundaries?_

_"I'm Bonnibel Grabb," she smiled widely and extended a hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."_

_"Marceline," she said and took the offered hand._

_They watched one another, absorbed in careful judgement. A moment passed and Marceline folded her arms and leaned back into the seat, "This is bull."_

_Maybe Bonnibel had been wrong about the other girl not being in a bad temper._

_"You know what, I'm not going to be a fake just because it's going to get me somewhere. I'm only a kid for fuck's sake; I've got to be myself and screw up as much as I want," she looked over to the leader, scorn in her eyes, "You can't simply indoctrinate someone to make them this placid puppet. If I'm going to like someone, I'd like it to be real. Otherwise, you're just being a shit and a liar, to yourself and the rest of the world. And, frankly, I've had enough of being a shit."_

_Bonnibel watched her carefully. Her profile was harsh, her nose pointed and her cheeks and chin sharp. But the look in her brown eyes was sharper still, able to cut through anything. It took her a moment to find any words, " It's kind of messed up, isn't it?"_

_"Yeah."_

_There was a short pause, "Hey, Marceline?"_

_She made a sound that hinted at some sort of recognition._

_"You should go into politics," she beamed, "You're great at ad lib speeches."_

_Marceline looked back her way, a mixture of surprise and satisfaction in her face, "What was that?"_

_"You could probably stir up entire countries with that combination of passion and crass language."_

_She gave a short, high laugh, "Yeah right."_

_The leader blew his whistle, signifying that it was time to find another partner to charm. Bonnibel got up gracefully, "No, I'm serious."_

_Marceline watched her as she walked over to her next partner. She felt herself begin to smile. Apparently, not all over-privileged kids were insufferable assholes._

* * *

The cashier looked down at her tray scornfully, "Will that be all?"

A turkey sandwich, two quarter pounders, a slice of pizza, four packets of crisps, a giant chocolate bar, two apples, three cans of lemonade and a bottle of water was undoubtedly anyone's idea of 'all'. Marceline still felt the need to explain, "My friends asked me to get lunch for them, so..."

The cashier made a noise in her throat, and took the extended money. Uncomfortably, Marceline left the queue and walked out of the campus canteen. The tray, burdened with food as it was, felt surprisingly light, though it drew a couple judgmental glances. She tilted her head so that her hair hung over her face and shielded them from her view.

A pair of feet entered her vision and she stopped just in time. She looked up, about to apologise, and faltered.

"Need any help?" Ash asked.

She shook her head and tried to edge away, "Thanks, but-"

"You've got a lot of food there, I just thought-"

"I'm fine. Really, it's only-"

"Are you sure? I-"

"I'm fine," she insisted and stepped past him.

"What happened, Marceline?" he said softly.

She didn't deign to reply. She didn't know the answer anyhow.

Across the path and under a tree sat her friends, determined to soak up what was no doubt the last clear day that December would offer them. It was Bobby that noticed her first, and he smiled when he saw what she carried, "Hey, it's Abadeer. She's got our lunch."

Wendy tucked her long, pale legs away and turned to look at her, "Took you a while."

"Sorry, the queue was ridiculous and-"

"I thought I asked for a burger without pickles," Georgy sniffed, lifting up the bun and glaring at its contents.

"They didn't have any, so I figured you could just take them out?" but when he looked at her, she shook her head frantically, "No, I didn't mean that, I just didn't know what else to get you, so-"

"Just shut up and eat your pizza," the other girl said, though not unkindly.

Sheepishly, Marceline leaned against the tree trunk and nibbled at the crust. It wasn't that her friends intimidated her intentionally; she was just so out of their league. Bobby Jaunes, Georgy Frost and Wendy Pasternak were white and immaculate, and commanded reverence. And she was determined to keep in with them- hence the odd courier job or homework assistance. Nothing too much, though.

Ever since she had left the Scream Queens and things between her and Ash had gotten so horribly awkward, she had struggled to find another place in the muddled school hierarchy. The three of them had taken her under her wing, and for that she was eternally thankful.

"Oh, Abadeer?"

She looked up, "Yeah?"

"A couple of us were thinking of going out tonight. You up for it?"

"Out as in...?"

Wendy shrugged, "Dancing, drinking, dudes. What do you think?"

She shook her head, "No. I've never much liked clubbing, you know that. But you guys have fun."

"So you'll just be staying in tonight?" Bobby asked through a mouthful of chocolate.

"I guess, yeah."

"Then you wouldn't mind babysitting my little sister?"

She shrugged, trying desperately to look casual, "I don't know, I have a business paper that I haven't started yet, and I thought-"

"She's only five, and she isn't that much hassle, I swear."

"That's fine, it's only that the finals of-"

He rolled his eyes, "Come on Abadeer, you can't just blow us off every single time we ask for a teeny little favour."

She didn't mention the time she had read that thousand page book for Georgy's psychology thesis, or that time she had done all of Wendy's ironing, or even subtly point out the crisp packets that decorated the grass before her. She just smiled, "Alright. I guess I can just read about the results tomorrow or something."

Sitting just behind Bobby, Ash looked at her pityingly. He mouthed the words, 'Don't be such a doormat,' and, 'No,' and 'Fuck his plans.'

She ignored him, and just kept smiling.

* * *

**A/N: Yes. Steady progression. May I point out I know nothing of halide catalysis? Thank you. **

**Just in case it isn't clear, Florence is Flame Princess. Wendy, Georgy and Bobby are the three ghosts from Heat Signature. It's obvious who Finn and Ash represent, and all other characters in this chapter are generic providers of service.**

**Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed.**


	3. Chapter 3

Bonnibel Grabb was horribly, horribly lost.

Fuck.

To her defence, it wasn't exactly her fault. The girl at the bar had somehow mucked up on her order; not just once, but about ten times.

"I'll have a glass of Baileys with lemonade please," she'd told her, and watched as she poured the drink. Bonnibel knew she couldn't be too careful; a lifetime spent studying chemicals (and by extension, drugs) had taught her that. And then, satisfied that the bartender had done it right, she took to slowly sipping her drink and scanning the dancefloor.

For obvious, Tuesday-night reasons, it was emptier than she was used to. The half naked, half wasted students who would usually be filling the clubs were keeping to their dormitories. You couldn't afford to be nursing a hangover on a Wednesday, because midweeks tended to be hell, even sober. And so the mood was quite casual, and not what Bonnibel had been hoping for.

She'd set down her glass, and the girl at the bar refilled it, and she'd been too late to refuse, so she lifted it to her lips and swallowed deep.

"What's someone like you doing out on a day like this?"

"What d'you mean, 'someone like you'?"

She'd smiled, but it wasn't patronising, "A pretty young lass who ought to be at school."

"How do you know this 'pretty young lass' doesn't have an executive job in some law firm out somewhere?"

Bonnibel had put down her glass, and she'd looked at it for a moment, then smiled back at her for another, "Because your drink choice is so adorably juvenile."

And she'd opened her mouth, indignant, but the girl had turned back to the wall of alcohol and started fixing Bonnibel a drink that was definitely not Baileys with lemonade, "Here. Have the 'executive job in a law firm' special."

"Thanks," she nodded, sipped at it, and pulled a face, "What the fuck is this?"

"Tequila and Jack Daniels. When you've spent most of your day trying to make a murderer look like the second coming of Christ, you need a hell of a lot of alcohol."

"No shit."

She drank it all anyway.

"So, what's with the Barbie doll hair?"

"What's with the blasé attitude, Sherlock?"

"Actually, it's Jun."

"What is that?" she slammed her glass down and waited for a refill of the wrong drink, "Chinese?"

"Korean, actually."

"Right. I'm Bonnibel," and when had Jun opened her mouth to acknowledge the statement, or perhaps to insult the ridiculous name, she cut in, "Okay. Now it's my turn to ask the questions. What's someone like you doing serving drinks in some tacky club in the middle of nowhere?"

"Mother of four. You sure like that drink, huh?"

"Whatever. Just fill it up again."

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the counter, "Right now, I'm thinking you're made for that executive job."

Bonnibel laughed once, a high, sharp laugh, "Oh god no. Too much work for me. Can barely cope with my actual courses. Science," she explained, before the bartender could ask.

Jun had been momentarily distracted by a sweaty youth in ridiculously low trousers. As she busied herself with his friends' round of drinks, the boy turned to Bonnibel and winked. She ignored him, "Hey, Jun? Another for me, as well."

She shot a look back, "That's your ninth glass."

"Well, I kind of want a tenth."

With a sigh, she had refilled the glass, "Your voice is slurring like hell. Just promise me you won't whip off your top and start dirty dancing on the counter."

"Sure," she slurred, though she knew that this was a promise she had broken many times before.

Jun watched her carefully, and so Bonnibel sipped at her drink as demurely as possible. The bartender picked up their previous thread of conversation, "So what sort of science are you into?"

She groaned, "Shit. I was really hoping you wouldn't ask me that."

Jun began to laugh, an uproarious, wanton laugh that ignited her entire being, "Please don't say you're studying fucking gynaecology."

And the girl with the bubblegum hair had laughed too, "No! Oh god no! I'm studying general chemistry, because I don't have any idea of what I want to go into."

"Oh, that's a relief," she smiled, and stilled, "I was like that too, y'know. Just look where I ended up. Tending a shitty bar, with four kids and a deadbeat dog for a husband."

Bonnibel looked at the Korean girl for a moment, and wondered what she had been like her age. Her face and figure were still beautiful, even after motherhood had taken its toll. Had she, once upon a time, been popular, with suitors trailing at her feet? Did she have dreams, and had they been reachable, or did they dart away like dragonflies? And had she been happy? Had her heart still been whole? She had so many questions, but she didn't know where to start.

"Another refill, please."

"Piss off," Jun had told her, and explained that even if she made money off her inebriety, she'd rather that Bonnibel got home in one piece, while she could still remember how to get back.

And after protesting that, no, she wasn't going to forget how to get on the bloody tube, Bonnibel left. Though unsteady, she denied Jun's offers of assistance. She may not have had all her wits about her, but she still had her pride- she wasn't quite at the point of performing impromptu strip shows.

Then, halfway down the street, she realised that she really did have no idea where the tube exit had been. It was one of the things that she'd once known, but didn't consider important enough to remember. Like Barney's prehistoric yellow friend's undoubtedly stupid name. Like that.

Her sudden forgetfulness wasn't the end of the world- no, nothing so dramatic. After all, she could just go into the nearest hotel, get a room for the night, maybe a map, and then tomorrow, when it was light, she could get back to campus. No problem.

It was only when she started stumbling through the city that she began to let up that the elusive 'nearest hotel' wasn't just elusive, but nonexistent. Perhaps she should have considered that the party district was unlikely to have any places to stay. And if it did, they were probably places of ill repute. Bonnibel was not so stupid as to get herself robbed or molested.

God bloody fuck.

It struck her how utterly ridiculous the curse was, and she half-laughed as her legs momentarily buckled beneath her. A couple of people looked at her oddly and an old lady offered some assistance, but she waved them away, "I'm fine, I'm fine, yeah, whatever, I'm fine."

But then her eyes locked on one of her spectators, looking pitying and aghast and, primarily, extremely confused, and there was recognition in that look, and Bonnibel lurched across the sidewalk, and shouted, "LSP!"

And she flung herself into the arms of her worst enemy.

* * *

_Life is a lottery, and Bonnibel had the wrong numbers._

_It had only taken two days for the other girl to start grating on her. The dorm was split in two, and there was a marked divide between the halves. Bonnibel's side, appealing to her natural sense of order and place, and then there was Lucy's, a clutter of bags and magazines and clothes._

_"Lumps," she told her, lying flat on the bed and lazily kicking out her legs, "Dad's found a way to get rid of all the lumps and bumps on your skin without any injections. Just pills and creams, and then you're, like, all smooth again."_

_"What about cancerous nodes?"_

_"I said lumps, not tumours," she sniffed, as if Bonnibel was the stupider of the two._

_Because, two days into Ooo, it was clear that Lucy Smith-Parker (affectionately named LSP by the camp leader) had not gotten in on the basis of her own intellect, but rather that of her father and his increasing number of reasons for women to feel insecure about theirselves. His philosophies, as cancerous as the lumps he couldn't remove, had taken root in his daughter, and she'd ritually curl her chestnut hair and paint herself a new face and stand in front of the mirror and paw her washboard stomach and fret about her Aphrodite curves. But it wasn't the fake intellect or the excessive vanity that irritated her. It was the potent mix of self depreciation and condescendence that made each careless attack on herself a barb directed right at Bonnibel too._

_"But if you can't even get rid of half of them, then what's the point?"_

_"To look beautiful, of course. Though that's, like, a totally new concept to you, right?"_

_Touché._

_There was no point staying where she wasn't wanted. Bonnibel stepped into a pair of well-worn slippers and began to head down. Breakfast should be out by now; bacon and eggs, judging by the smell._

_She wasn't the first down. Two girls that she didn't know the names of, and another that she did- Marceline, resolutely dragging her bacon across the plate as she texted someone. Then there was a single boy. His name was Richard, no, Ricardio. He seemed nice enough, and looked good too; dark, chiselled features, blazing blue eyes and fine smoke on his chin. He obviously hadn't shaved that morning._

_Bonnibel got herself a plate and sat down opposite him, "Hey. Good night?"_

_He nodded, "I guess, though my roommate kind of snores like a foghorn."_

_The mental image made her laugh, "Oh wow, I'm beginning to think I was actually lucky with mine."_

_He smiled wanly. He was well aware of Lucy's idiosyncrasies, and had told Bonnibel about how she had taken advantage of the team bonding exercise to try and chat him up. None too subtly, he might add._

_Bonnibel had warmed to Ricardio instantly. Something in his manner, and is his inflected and lilting speech, was incredibly charismatic. And even more, there was a sort of kinship, the beating of two like hearts, that drove them together. From first impressions, they thought and felt the same way about many matters._

_"Hey, Ricardio, do you think-"_

_"Miss Grabb!" the supervisor had entered the room and, spotting Bonnibel, waved her over, "Could I speak to you for just a moment?"_

_"Of course," she got up and shrugged apologetically at him. Then she turned on her heel and left the room._

_The supervisor led her into a small room and shut the door, "Miss Grabb, are you aware of the purpose of Ooo?"_

_"It's to cement business and logistical skills, right?"_

_She nodded curtly, "Indeed. And a large aspect of business is communication. Yesterday's exercise implemented that."_

_Bonnibel tried to keep the frown from showing on her face. She wasn't sure where the conversation was going. Had she somehow unintentionally done something wrong?_

_"You seemed to get along with most of the participants, which was great to see. Or else, you're simply a brilliant actress."_

_She laughed politely._

_"To the point, you were one of the few who got along with Marceline," she looked at her for a moment, searching, "The camp will require you to work in pairs with another, and I supposed you'd mind least if I arranged the two of you."_

_"I don't have any problems with that, no."_

_"That's a relief," she made a quick note on her tablet, "Marceline's situation is special, you see."_

_"Special? In what way?" Bonnibel couldn't help herself- the curiosity just bubbled out of her. Was it the good sort of special ; was the girl rich, or a prodigy? Or was it the other sort? A bad family life, or bereavement? The sadness and anger in those dark eyes pointed to the latter._

_"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say."_

_Frustrated, Bonnibel wondered why the blond had even brought it up, but she said nothing, and quickly took her leave._

_When the pairs were announced later that day, she tried not to let the preemptive knowledge show on her face. She walked up to Marceline and beamed at her, but the girl turned away and studied her phone._

_'got paired up w/ ginger bitch'_

_Ash's reply came near-instantly, 'oh good luck'_

_She looked up for a moment. Bonnibel had turned away, and was talking animatedly to the Hispanic guy, and her face was aglow and real and not diplomatic like the rest._

_Marceline smiled._

_'yeah. maybe it is.'_

* * *

Shoko Jaunes wasn't a bad kid. A bit of a handful, perhaps (the understatement of the century) but she wasn't antagonistic or unfriendly.

And although Shoko had demanded that she play princesses and peasants with her the whole evening- naturally, Marceline fulfilled the role of the peasant, cooking meals and carrying the little girl around in her shoulders- she had tired out earlier than usual. And, yawning, she'd asked for a bedtime story.

Marceline thought for a moment. She wasn't good with stories. That's why she was taking business and iconography, "A story?"

"Yeah, about princesses and knights."

"And peasants?" she laughed.

Shoko nodded enthusiastically, "All of them! Everything from the pretty old days."

And so she had began her tale of a young girl called Shoko, who, one day came across a tiger in the forest. Though the tiger had been ever so fierce, the little girl tamed it, and they soon became inseparable. The tiger was not only fierce, but wise, and he told her about a kingdom made entirely of candy. Together, they had adventured towards this land, fighting off beasts left and right. News of their exploits travelled far, and the bubblegum princess met the heroes at the gates.

Marceline had watched the little girl as her eyes went thorough the motions of sleep- from wide and awed, to half-lidded stubbornness, and then, finally, closed and snoring gently. And she'd smiled and turned out the lights.

Then she'd gone downstairs and- quietly, ever so quietly- pilfered through the cabinet drawers to find some lined paper and a pen. Bobby wouldn't mind; he wouldn't even notice. What he would mind, however, was if she took the memo detailing his PIN code, or disturbed his casual food stash, and so she left them as is.

Now- she'd thought, chewing on the end of her pen- what exactly were the factors threatening the Eastern economy? She hadn't brought her notes along, so she was doing it from memory. Her memory did not serve her well. For a suspended moment, she stared down at the sheet of paper and then, almost cautiously, she began to write.

Time became air, and Marceline only realised she'd drifted off when she opened her eyes from that hours-long blink. A Cinderella blanket had been draped over her shoulders as she'd slept. Sweet girl.

Shoko was waiting for her in the kitchen, "What's investment?"

"Boring. What do you want for breakfast?"

She wasn't listening. The small girl folded her arms sternly and glared at her, "Shouldn't you be at school by now?"

"No. Shouldn't you?"

"No."

Marceline smiled, "Alright then. What's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes!"

With a theatric sigh, she began to make the batter. Shoko helped her to mix it all together, but she cooked and flipped them herself. She didn't want the kid to burn herself whilst under her protection.

After lavishing her batch of pancakes with an inordinate quantity of Nutella, Shoko raised one to her mouth, blinked, and put it down again.

"Something wrong? Did I not make them right?"

She shook her head, "Where's Bobby?"

At some stranger's apartment, soaking in the wet, sticky air, taking his last fill of those fake and unfeeling kisses. Lost in some forgotten alleyway within a neon canyon, lying in a puddle of his own vomit. Back at school, having forgotten any other obligations, with no attention for anyone other than his sorry self.

They were all situations that Marceline understood well, but she doubted the little girl would. And she didn't want those eyes to fill with judgment and pity, as they often would. And she didn't want to dredge up that person who no longer existed.

"He's probably just forgotten to tell you he's got something on."

Shoko quite obviously didn't believe the lie.

Marceline turned away.

* * *

**A/N: It's time for the introduction segment, where I make sure my artistic lisence still makes sense. Jun is Lady Rainicorn, Lucy Smith-Parker is Lumpy Space Princess, and Ricardio and Shoko are their canon counterparts.**

**(This took me awhile to write. Sorry O/O Hope you enjoy anyway!) **


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